


Heart

by blue_fjords



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during episode six, after Spartacus & Co return and have a night planning session.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kriari (kadielkrieger)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadielkrieger/gifts).



> Agron calls Nasir his heart the day after he returns from Capua before he heads off to Neapolis. Here's how I think that happened. Written in the style of the show.  
> A birthday present for the lovely kriari, who got me to watch Sparty in the first place. Many thanks to dizzzylu for the beta and encouragement!

Booted heel scuffs against stone passageway, sending pebbles skittering like so many mice, pitter-pattering down temple hallway. Nasir comes awake with a start, sound invading troubling dream. All dreams are troubled as of late, full of blood and death and inexorable pursuit.

Footsteps which woke him still and stop in the hall, and Nasir reaches for the sword Spartacus gave him. Its weight grows ever lighter with each passing day. The man in the hall chuckles softly. _Agron_.

"Warms heart to see you thus prepared, but I am no fucking Roman," he says, and shuffles into the room. Once, this room had held wine gifted by supplicants, among other items of some worth. Lucius had long since drank the wine, but Nasir had found a woman's cloak pin in the rubble, tarnished but masterful artistry still apparent in design. He had gifted it to Naevia before spreading out two bedrolls to mark his claim and his hope.

"What are you, then?" Nasir teases, blinking sleep from his eyes. "A thief in the night, creeping in once those with good sense are in their beds."

"Which would not include you," Agron counters, "feigning sleep by torchlight." He nods his head in direction of said torch and lowers himself to the ground. "Waiting up for me, Little Man?"

It is not to be borne. Nasir reaches out with both hands and clasps them around Agron's neck, bringing their foreheads together. "Is memory so short, that giant men already forget not to call me such words?"

Agron's only answer is to smile, delight taking twenty years from his countenance, leaving a joyful child in Nasir's arms. But it is no child that presses in close and steals a kiss, nor would a child place hand to waist to dip beneath clothing and run calloused fingers along hipbone. Nasir gasps, action stilling caress and causing Agron to pull his lips away.

"Not my intention to stop," Nasir says, catching breath and holding tight to strong shoulders.

Agron looks down at him, eyes wandering the length of his body before meeting Nasir's own. Heart flutters, then beats all the harder, for Agron's eyes hold the look of a man caught up in worship.

"Why do you gaze at me so?" Nasir whispers, hands slipping away. Agron catches them in his own and blinks rapidly, eyes peering into dark corners, as if seeking answer in shadows.

"I know no other way of which to gaze upon you," Agron says in halting voice. "I find thoughts frequently turned toward gazing upon you. I have not felt such before."

"And yet you speak such sweet words to me while gazing upon dust and broken pottery?" Amusement colors voice, and joyful affection. Nasir takes his hands back to cradle Agron's face. "Never have I heard such things spoken to me from honest heart."

"I speak only truth."

"I believe you. You have always only spoken truth to me, even when I did not wish to hear it. I would have you always speak truth to me, and know sentiments are returned."

Smile breaks across Agron's face, deep dimples cutting into cheeks. Nasir presses thumbs to dimples and thinks Agron's smile elevates him above all men in beauty. Laughter rumbles up and out of that beloved throat and Nasir flushes, realizing he spoke his thought aloud.

"Gratitude," Agron laughs, "but I have oft thought likewise of you."

"Enough of talk," Nasir says, flushing with emotion that cannot be called embarrassment. "Put words to action."

They are both laughing now, mirth filling a room that had so long been filled with only dust and memory, and bitter mutterings of man advanced in both age and regret. But they are young, and nearly healthy, and will take advantage of shared lust and affection, further driving out shadows.

The scar is still tender and sore across Nasir's midsection, and Agron kisses softly around edge of healing skin, eyes taking a somber cast before Nasir's fingers grip tufts of hair and tug. Lips clash once more. Agron moves over Nasir, both bodies falling atop prepared bedrolls. Questing fingers divest each other of raiment, bare skin pressing sweaty and slick to bare skin.

Nasir moans low in his throat as heat from Agron washes over him. He wants this, the strength of his desire continually robbing breath since Chadara first called attention to it. All lovers he had when a slave, all touches from cold master – none were chosen with full heart, but rather for convenience or duty. Agron is here now because Nasir allows it, and the same is true in reverse.

Agron's breathing is loud in the small room, containing a note of desperation, a whine of impatience. They have been leading up to this moment since they first exchanged words at the villa, Agron first waiting for Nasir to embrace freedom, then to return from the mines, then to recover from injury and finally for Agron to return from Capua. Nasir pants into Agron's mouth, no less desperate and impatient, the wound in his side throbbing with each breath.

Nasir has skilled fingers. He puts them to single purpose now, the pursuit of pleasure, and can feel all along his body as Agron responds. Agron is more advanced in size, strength and age, but he is helpless as fleeting deer caught by determined hunter, his body undulating with Nasir, unmindful of all else.

"Nasir," Agron moans, and then, "Nasir!" spoken with wonder.

Many are the images that crowd Nasir's dreams – rare peaceful mornings at the villa; weak face of his master, twisted in hollow passion; storms descending on parched land; the wide smile of a brother. The sight of Agron, locks of sweaty hair plastered to forehead, muscles in neck straining, broad shoulders bunching, mouth slack, lips glistening, eyelashes dark smears with a hint of eye, this is an image Nasir will treasure always, rolled up and secure in his heart like a sacred scroll. Agron grinds against him, pelvis thrusting uncontrollably, and Nasir holds both their cocks in his newly-calloused fingers as Agron's hands tighten almost painfully on his shoulders. Nasir is expecting Agron's release when it comes, but his own takes him unaware, so enthralled is he by watching the play of strong emotions on Agron's face.

The moment post-release becomes many moments, as breath is caught and restored. Nasir cannot stop staring up at Agron, and receives comfort in Agron's wondering gaze on his own face.

"I," Agron starts, and his face splits into a smile, dimples creasing his cheeks. "Fuck, we're doing that again."

"I do not need convincing," Nasir laughs, still a bit breathless. Agron echoes him and takes Nasir's head in his hands, the better to swallow laughter in a kiss. One kiss becomes two, becomes many more before Agron pulls away, his hands still tangled in Nasir's hair.

"Tomorrow I am for Neapolis," Agron says. "To bring back news of fighting men that would support our cause."

"Then you must sleep, and regain strength." Nasir shifts on the bedrolls, parting his legs to entangle Agron further. "I would have you sleep beside me. I prepared a place for us."

"It is truly a palace," Agron says, grinning again when Nasir swats at his elbow and pulls him down on top of him. Both men groan when sensitive spent cock rubs against spent cock.

"In the morning," Nasir breathes a promise. His eyelids are already falling shut. Agron is warm all around him, but it is as nothing compared to the fire burning in his heart.

"Come the dawn," Agron agrees, kissing him again. Nasir smiles against his lips.

"There will be many dawns," he says softly. Agron's face is as the sun parting stormy gray clouds. Nasir unrolls a corner of his scroll and commits the image to memory.

They fall swiftly into slumber, wrapped around each other, dreams as entwined as their legs. When day breaks, they will rut and fondle, gasp and moan before Agron leaves to scout Neapolis, his footfall light on his path because his heart is staying behind him.


End file.
